


sing where the other boys can’t watch you dance

by scandalousloki



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Burlesque AU, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Jaskier is Very Pretty, M/M, Masturbation, Some Humor, Strangers to Lovers, also yen and triss are in love, burlesque dancer jaskier, geralt is being an idiot again, sorry i don’t make the rules
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25482052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalousloki/pseuds/scandalousloki
Summary: There were very few things that Geralt knew about these kinds of… erotic dancing places.But the one thing he did know was that he didn’t want to be where he was. At all.Until the curtains opened and revealed someone called “Dandelion”.Then Geralt couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.(Also known as: a Modern AU where Jaskier is an erotic dancer. When Geralt just so happens to show up one night, Jaskier becomes the new object of Geralt’s adoration. Pining ensues.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 16
Kudos: 123





	1. dream a little dream of me

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is the first of many! 
> 
> I will be updating regularly, and leaving notes to tell you a little about each chapter.
> 
> In this chapter, Yen drags Geralt to a Burlesque show. And Geralt unexpectedly finds the most attractive human being he’s ever seen.
> 
> (Warnings: Slightly sexual themes, but no explicit descriptions of sex... yet.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the first of many! 
> 
> I will be updating regularly, and leaving notes to tell you a little about each chapter.
> 
> In this chapter, Yen drags Geralt to a Burlesque show. And Geralt unexpectedly finds the most attractive human being he’s ever seen.
> 
> (Warnings: Slightly sexual themes, but no explicit descriptions of sex... yet.)

Yennefer was getting married. Which wasn’t necessarily exciting to Geralt, it was more-so expected. 

In fact, Geralt was close friends with Yennefer long before she and Triss had even met. Which meant that he had to witness the slow beginnings of their kindling romance first-hand. 

Not only that, but Geralt had to hear the irritatingly frequent updates of said romance from Yennefer. Despite the fact that he never had any input or advice for her. Which had only managed to piss-off Yennefer, not silence her. 

(At some point, Geralt was convinced that Yennefer just liked to hear herself talk. Or, more likely, she just had no other friends to tell these things to.)

Then Yen and Triss got engaged. And Geralt, for one beautiful second, thought that he was off the hook. That he’d never again have to hear another “Triss named a flower in her garden after me, Geralt, and I’m not sure if that’s platonic or if I should just tell her that I’m in love with her already”.

But then Yennefer had educated Geralt on the marriage tradition of “bachelorette parties”. And when he insisted on the fact that his male presence would probably not be missed at such an occasion, Yennefer informed Geralt that he hadn't been given a choice. He was going.

And since it was his best friend who was getting married, he couldn’t really say no to that.

➸➸➸

It took him twenty minutes to find parking. Which already put him in a bad mood.

When Geralt stepped out of his car and looked up at the building that was lined with a thousand different hues of flashing colored lights, he wasn’t quite sure what he had gotten himself into.

He looked around at the very full parking lot, and then up at the big glowing sign that read “Madame Madeline’s”. 

(As soon as Yennefer was fully married and honeymooned out, Geralt thought, he was going to revise and perfect his ploy to murder her.)

He locked his car, slipped his key into his pocket, and hesitantly walked into the building.

••

Geralt paid the fee for entry, and then it took him a few minutes to be desensitized enough to fully walk inside. 

The venue was dimly lit in shades of dark purple and magenta. But something about the portraits and pictures of sensual women on the wall told Geralt that it was going to get bright in there  _ very _ soon.

Geralt took a moment to scan the surprisingly vast seating area-- in which almost every table was completely full. He then briefly gazed at a platform that appeared to be a stage, where nothing was being shown except a closed black velvet curtain.

After some reluctant roaming, Geralt eventually found the table Yennefer and her friends were sitting at. Seemingly with the best view of the stage.

Their table, like the others around it, was black with a silky black cover draped over it. But the top of it was littered by half-empty wine bottles and a wide variety of purses and gift-bags. The pink-shaded fluorescent lights that were circling the room occasionally flickered over Yen and her friends, giving Geralt brief bright flashes of laughing and snickering expressions.

He sighed and stepped within Yen’s view.

“Geralt, thank gods you’re here,” Yennefer greeted, suddenly looking so incredibly happy that he had arrived. Which probably meant that she was tipsy.

“I am,” he replied plainly, lifting an eyebrow at her and admiring the way her eyes gleamed with anticipation.

“Fringilla,” she spoke, to her friend seated next to her, “I’ve enjoyed your company thoroughly, but I’d  _ really _ appreciate it if Geralt could sit with me for the show.”

(Geralt had never seen Yennefer act so nicely before. Which probably should’ve been the first indicator that this night was going to be unusual.)

Fringilla grinned at Yen politely, before seating herself at the other side of the table. 

Geralt squeezed himself through some of Yen’s other friends before sitting down next to her. She let her gaze settle forward as she swirled her wine glass in her hand.

“I’m getting  _ married _ in two months,” she breathed, loud enough for only Geralt to hear.

He looked at her amusedly and chuckled, “So I’ve heard.”

She grinned and elbowed him playfully, and poured him a fresh glass of Roscato.

(Geralt would’ve stopped her and asked for something stronger, but he’d known better at that point.)

She handed him the glass and he took it with a noticeable lack of grace and poise, setting it back on the table.

“How do you feel?” he asked, as if there could be a simple answer to such a question.

“Terrified,” she replied honestly, “But that’s not what tonight is about.”

He huffed. “And what  _ is _ it about?”

She paused, reflecting for a moment before taking another long sip of her wine.

In the corner of his eye, Geralt saw some lights flickering and small movements begin on the stage, and he realized he still hadn’t asked her a very important question.

“Yen,” he stated inquisitively, slightly squinting his eyes at her, “What is this place?”

Yennefer huffed out a laugh and tossed her head downwards, letting the momentum of her laughter shake her shoulders.

Geralt did not share into her amusement.

She looked at him with mild disapproval then snickered, “Oh come on, Geralt… I  _ know _ you don’t like dancing, but surely you can entertain yourself by watching  _ other _ people do it.”

Just as Geralt furrowed his brows and opened his mouth to protest, a very loud voice from a speaker bellowed into the room, immediately demanding the attention of everyone seated in the venue.

_ “Good evening, beauties! The show will soon begin, so please silence your cellphones and get yourselves nice and hot for tonight’s lovely acts… And, as always, welcome to Madame Madeline’s.” _

And everyone, including Yen’s friends, cheered. Loudly.

Geralt shot an irritated scowl at Yennefer, and she just laughed.

••

The curtains split open to reveal the vibrantly pink spot-lights on stage as the voice announced the first act: _“Rosie Posie”_

And of course, as anticipated, the audience erupted with whooping and applause.

Then a woman-- Rosie Posie, supposedly-- walked onto the stage dressed in very tall heels, a full-face of light pink make-up, and a sparkling pink dress that twinkled in the spot-light. Which all made sense, he guessed.

Just as appropriately, the instrumental tune to “La Vie En Rose” began to play, and the woman began to slowly sway in rhythm with it.

(Geralt couldn’t remember how he’d recognized the song, but there were more pressing matters at hand. Because it didn’t take a genius to know  _ why _ “Rosie” was beaming so brightly as she swayed her hips.)

He took a quick glance at Yennefer, who was smirking profusely as she looked upon the stage, almost like she was living vicariously through the performer.

Then Rosie slowly began to undo the zipper of her dress, tantalizingly revealing her pink lingerie-clad body. Earning several cheers and whistles from the audience.

And Geralt wanted to  _ run _ . 

(Truth be told, the view wasn’t... unenjoyable. And it wasn’t like Geralt hadn’t seen his share of sensual, half-naked women. It was just slightly odd for him, to be in a public setting watching things so intimate. Beautiful and appealing, of course… but still very  _ intimate _ .)

Rosie lively twirled about her heels, letting the loose beads of her underclothes swivel around her. 

Geralt shifted in his seat and grabbed his wine glass from the table, downing all of it in one swig. Not nearly strong enough, but it was something at least. 

The audience began to cheer again as Rosie removed another item of clothing.

Geralt sighed and pressed his fingers to his temples.

It was going to be a long night.

••

They were only twenty minutes’ worth of performances in, and Geralt already wanted to evaporate out of existence.

And Yennefer’s constant wine-induced musings in his ear certainly weren’t helping:

Like when Rosie finished, and Yen leaned over and said, “Gods, Geralt, wasn’t she lovely? Obviously not nearly as lovely as Triss, who I’m marrying. But she was still  _ so _ lovely.”

Or when Miss Peri Winkle came on, and Yen said, “That’s a spectacular shade of purple, don’t you think-- Geralt, are you even watching? … Don’t scowl at me. You will give these women the attention they deserve, Geralt. Don’t make me threaten you.”

All in all, he wasn’t having the best time. But the small satisfaction he gained from annoying Yennefer was enough to keep him in his seat.

As the applause for some performer-- whose stage name Geralt had already forgotten-- had died out, Geralt was getting ready to get up from his seat to find a restroom for a much-needed break. 

But suddenly:

_ “Now please give a warm welcome to our first and only double-talented act of the evening… Dandelion!” _

Geralt hadn’t thought much of it, at first.

But then the curtains opened and a single white spotlight shined on the side profile of a toned, brunette man in a sheer black robe sitting legs-crossed off the side of the chair in the middle of the stage.

And then Geralt couldn’t bring himself to move.

No music was playing yet, but the entire room was silently captivated.

(Geralt noticed that, unlike the other performers, Dandelion seemed to be wearing a mic. Which would probably wind up making sense within the next few seconds.)

The performer’s head tilted back-- earning a whoop from an audience member. Dandelion grinned ever so slightly before his red-tinted lips parted and he slowly, sultrily sang,

_ “Stars shining bright above you...”  _

Dandelion shut his eyes and continued,

_ “Night breezes seem to whisper I love you…” _

Dandelion gently opened his eyes and turned his head towards the audience. 

_ “Birds singing in the sycamore tree…” _

The man leisurely leaned back, making a hypnotic display out of the way his back arched as he sang,

_ “Dream a little dream of me…” _

Then the instrumental music came in to accompany him, as he rhythmically brought himself off of the chair and continued to sing the rest of the song whilst parading about the stage.

And Geralt was watching him with such devotion that he didn’t hear any of Yen’s amused whispers in his ear while Dandelion was on stage.

Geralt was watching when Dandelion eased the sheer robe off of his shoulders, letting the fabric dance down his body to reveal the way his fair skin contrasted with his lacy black lingerie.

Geralt was watching when Dandelion carefully ran his delicate fingers down his lovely yet exposed torso.

Geralt was watching when Dandelion slightly bent over, giving everyone a perfect view of the flawless curve of his ass.

And Geralt was  _ listening _ to Dandelion’s entrancing voice the whole time, but especially when he sang the last,  _ “Dream a little dream of me…” _

(Because, whether the message was meant for him or not, Geralt was almost one hundred percent sure that he was going to dream several little dreams about Dandelion later on.)

••

The rest of the night went by in a haze.

Before he knew it, the show was over, and everyone was getting ready to leave. Geralt wasn’t at all affected by the wine, so he graciously offered Yennefer a ride home. 

During the drive, she wasn’t as talkative as she was in the venue. She seemed to be more resigned and deep in thought.

But still, with her face pressed against the cold glass of the passenger-seat window as he drove, she spoke,

“Geralt?”

“Hmm,” he replied.

“Answer me honestly.”

“Of course.”

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

He thought about Dandelion, who was now etched into his mind, finding a home under his skin, giving him warmth in places he had only known coldness.

“Yes,” he said, “I did.”

And with the way Yen gently smiled, he knew it was all she needed to hear.

••

Geralt got home that night at a mildly late time.

When he stepped into shower, he tried to wash away the several moments of discontent that the night had brought him.

He tried even harder to wash away the memories of Dandelion that were lingering in his mind.

And he tried to ignore the rapidly growing warmth and pleasure those memories were giving him.

(It didn’t work.)

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> In the next chapter, Geralt’s driven to make several impulsive and irresponsible decisions as his obsession with Dandelion continues to grow. 
> 
> And he’s determined to hide this new hobby from Yennefer.


	2. you must be haunting me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt starts to realize that the itching in the back of his mind and the simmering under his skin, can all be traced back to one person. 
> 
> He briefly considers the other, better ways to cope with this realization. 
> 
> But he ultimately finds himself giving in, slipping into an addiction to Dandelion. 
> 
> Which doesn’t go unnoticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry this one took a while, but I recently got my second wind to write, so there will be more frequent updates from here on. I have lots planned for this fic.
> 
> (Warnings: This chapter is a little more on the NSFW side. Sexy desires lead to masturbation. Jaskier’s performances are still erotic, but slightly more lewd this chapter.)
> 
> Songs in this chapter: The two unnamed jazz songs that Dandelion dance to at the end are “White Cliffs of Dover'' by Vera Lynn and “Nice ‘n’ Easy” by Frank Sinatra.

Geralt already had problems _before_ that night. 

Most of those problems had to do with his job, managing his work schedule and his sanity in the same breath. Which was difficult.

Some of those problems had to do with his social life, or lack thereof. Yennefer loved to remind him of those problems whenever she was given the opportunity.

But after Yen’s bachelorette party, he had a new problem. A very annoying, persistent problem.

And it was Dandelion.

It wasn’t like Geralt hadn’t dated or been attracted to men before, because he definitely had. It was just that Geralt didn’t even _know_ Dandelion-- or whatever his real name was-- and yet the man managed to occupy so much of Geralt’s mind. And it was fucking annoying.

➸➸➸

  
  


Two days after the bachelorette party, Geralt had a work meeting. 

After seven years of working at his company, work meetings were pretty much routine: let the higher-ups engage in their pointless pissing contests, pay attention to trends of decreasing economic stimulation, listen ardently to innovative ideas, then leave. Simple.

Except, that Monday morning, it wasn’t as simple as it should’ve been.

Geralt’s eyes perused the room as one of his coworkers babbled on about his “amazing and record-breaking” sales numbers. He saw a vague display of uniformity: fresh suits and shoes all clumped together like in a magazine catalog. Gelled-up or pressed-down hairstyles all bobbing up and down in agreement, like it was choreographed.

(Geralt kept his hair tied back for these things, because apparently that contributed to some sense of feigned professionalism. Which he thought was bullshit, but whatever.)

He let his gaze slide over the mahogany brown conference table, full of papers and pens and… a dark red purse.

(He felt like there was something tenaciously familiar about that shade of red. Like a deep maroon or a softened velvet. And he’d _seen_ it before. If he could just--)

And then, suddenly:

(Geralt’s mind caught the memory of red lips parted delicately. A pink tongue running along the rim of those red lips. Black lace tightly wrapped to smooth skin. Painted fingernails sliding slowly up closed thighs. Thighs that gingerly opened, just enough to cause wanting. A bending body frame, swivelling and tossing in obscenely sensual ways. All while he sang ever so sweetly, angelically almost. Like a perfect oxymoron.

And Geralt wanted every part of it. Badly. Needed it more than air.)

The thoughts raided his mind so quickly, he hardly had the chance to blink before a very pressing demand began to rise in his pants. 

He tensed his jaw and sighed quietly.

(This would be a temporary issue. He’d probably forget about the dancer by the next morning…)

➸➸➸

(... Except, he didn’t:)

On Wednesday evening, Geralt sat at his home computer, finishing up his monthly report for work. The task was so tedious that, as usual, he found himself zoning out while doing it.

Usually, he would’ve thought about what he was making or ordering for dinner the next night. Or maybe what he was planning on getting Yen and Triss as their wedding gift.

But one small deviation off of his usual train of thought, and he was spiraling into the Dandelion-themed sexual abyss. For the _eighth_ time that week. 

(Geralt found that imagining the texture of Dandelion’s laced clothing against his fingers expedited the process. Seeing the man laid out in front of Geralt like a bouquet of roses with unwinding petals. Pressing his fingers to Dandelion’s red lips, gently pushing them into his mouth. Hearing the sweet little hum of content from his throat, and subsequently feeling it against his fingers. Gliding his hands to the more sensitive parts of Dandelion’s body, giving them all special attention until Dandelion begged with his honeyed voice to be properly pleased.)

Geralt fumbled aggressively with the button of his pants and the hem of his trousers to release his cock. He lubricated his hands with lotion, that was conveniently placed on the nearby dresser, and began to stroke himself.

(He imagined how Dandelion’s hands would feel on him. A gentle grasp, ensured by his portrayal of fragility while on stage, but firm and persistent strokes. That’s assuming Dandelion would have a good sense of how to touch him, having pleased _himself_ before.)

And suddenly the prospect of that was more appealing than any other fantasy Geralt could’ve conjured.

Geralt swiped a thumb over the tip of his head, letting a deep sigh fall from his lips, and continued to tug his length at an agonizingly slow pace.

(He imagined Dandelion, still wearing his performance garments, gently pressing a hand to his own hardly-clothed groin and palming himself. He imagined how Dandelion’s face would look if it were twisted into an expression of pleasure. How he would _sound_. Rather, how he’d sound being entered.)

Geralt shut his eyes and bit his lip, quickening his pace.

(How desperate Dandelion would sound if he were on the verge of release, how rapidly his glistening chest would heave. How incredibly disheveled his brunette hair would look from tossing his head back in want. How his hands would grip onto Geralt’s arms as he cried out his name, begging to cross the threshold. The sound would be such music to his ears. “Please, Geralt, _please_.”)

And, apparently, that was enough to send Geralt over.

All of Geralt’s muscles tensed and his jaw was held shut as the orgasm tore through his body. Hot liquid leaked from him, quickly finding its way on the desk, his hands, and his bare thighs. His mouth parted open. Soft, persistent grunts fell off of his lips. He panted feverishly until his breath evened out.

(The vivid images of Dandelion in his mind dulled slightly, but still remained there.) 

He reluctantly got up to wet a towel for his mess, still feeling a shameful, lingering sense of wanting hoovering in the back of his mind.

After cleaning up, he shut down his computer, knowing he was too drained and distracted to get any work done, and that he could finish up the next day. He decided to, instead, go to sleep.

He sauntered into his bedroom, throwing himself back onto his grey comforter. He adjusted himself on the bed and sluggishly shut his eyes.

(Before he fell asleep, he said a silent prayer-- to anyone, honestly-- for that night to be the last time Dandelion would make him feel like that. That he’d go back to being his normal, focused, and indifferent self. He’d settle for some kind of extremely limited, very time-specific memory loss, just so he could have some peace of mind again...)

➸➸➸

(...But, of course, he was shown no such mercy:) 

He thought of Dandelion when he woke up the next morning.

He thought of Dandelion every day of work that week, and sated his thoughts in the building’s bathroom.

He thought of Dandelion when Yen called him to complain about a mishap in her wedding planning as he drove home from work.

He thought of Dandelion when he took his showers.

He thought of Dandelion when he ate his dinner.

He thought of Dandelion constantly. 

And it was getting exponentially _worse_.

He was losing focus at work. He was less cooperative and more irritable than usual-- which was saying something. Even Yennefer, who hardly seemed to notice the minor differences in Geralt’s emotional states, had been repeatedly expressing her concern for him.

And the mere thought of Yennefer knowing _anything_ about this situation made Geralt want to shrivel up and fade out of existence.

Which meant that he had to fix his problem immediately.

➸➸➸

Geralt had an idea. A stupid, counterproductive idea that would probably make his problem worse, and leave him wanting even more than he already was.

But the thought had already brewed into action before he could stop it:

  
  


The following Friday night, Geralt sifted through his texts from Yen to find the address. Then he got in his car, and took the vaguely familiar guided path to the, again, full parking lot. 

He took a moment to look at the bright lights and the glowing sign that said “Madame Madeline’s”. 

(In a moment of clarity, Geralt realized he should've just gotten in his car and gone back home. But he figured that was already there, so he might as well just follow through.)

He paid the entrance fee at the front and sat down at a small, empty table with a closer center view of the stage than he previously had with Yen. Though he was sure nobody there was paying him any mind, he inspected the room to make sure nobody he recognized was in attendance. 

(He usually didn’t give a shit about those kinds of things, but given the circumstances, he felt it was necessary.)

Then, he waited.

The order of performances had changed drastically since the last time he was there, and most of the performers themselves had changed their acts. To keep things “fresh” or “interesting”, Geralt supposed. 

(With this turn of events, he realized he had no idea what to expect from Dandelion, if anything. He considered leaving now, to keep the haunting image of Dandelion in his mind. Untouched, unchanged, and _his_. But before he could make the decision--)

_“....Dandelion!”_

And, yet again, Geralt couldn’t bring himself to move. For many more reasons than before.

The curtains opened, this time revealing an empty stage illuminated by a blend of deep violet and midnight-blue colored lights. This time, a sweet chorus of ambiguously-familiar jazz music preceded Dandelion’s appearance on the stage. But nevertheless, the performer slowly appeared from the wings. 

On his face, he wore some sort of sparkly lip-gloss and some skillfully-applied face glitter to accentuate his striking features. 

On his carefully moving body, he wore a white, thigh-length silk dress with an intricate lace pattern tracing an open “V” on the chest section. Two thin strands of fabric rested tightly on both of his shoulders, being the only two things keeping the dress from slipping off of Dandelion’s body. The bottom hem of the dress was frilled up, full of an endless parade of wound curls, matching the hem of long white gloves Dandelion wore on his hands. 

On his feet, the dancer wore white ballet-slippers. And the best of it all, a white-lace garter peeked out from the middle of the man’s thigh.

All the white that Dandelion was wearing, though, was profusely tinted by the cool-colored lights. But something about the way the light was drowning him, the way he was basking in it so effortlessly... It made him look ethereal.

And Geralt was practically _drooling_ at the sight.

Dandelion wasn’t wearing a mic this time, which gave Geralt a sliver of disappointment. 

This disappointment was quickly cast aside, however, once Geralt’s attention was brought back to the graceful and delicate way Dandelion was bringing himself to the center of the stage.

Dandelion made a show of displaying (what Geralt assumed was) his professional dance training. Every arch of his leg or arm was careful, pristine, and tantalizingly slow.

The dancer got through half of the first song before he slowly began to remove one of the white gloves, earning whistles from the eager audience members. He smiled minutely, tossing the cloth to the side. 

(Geralt tried to ignore how insane the gradual reveal of Dandelion’s skin was driving him. He tried not to notice how seeing Dandelion was simultaneously easing and worsening the itch that Geralt had been cultivating all week.)

He watched as both gloves came off, and Dandelion’s once graceful and delicate motions slowly turned sensual and hedonistic. Occasionally, he bent to showcase the arch of his back, or he’d tilt a leg up slowly, or he’d run his hands up his robing to more obscenely show the garter on his thigh. There was a fucking bow on it. Of course.

(Geralt was drinking it all in, adoring and admiring every moment. As much as it was torturing him.)

The second song was still jazz-themed, but much more up-beat. Dandelion, being the performer he was, used this to his advantage. His dance became much more flirtatious and-- for lack of better words-- skin-showy.

Dandelion slowly undid the spaghetti straps of his silk dress, revealing a sparkling two-piece lingerie set. It gleamed and glistened as he spun and danced in the lights, eating up the audience’s cheers.

(To say that Geralt was in love was a stretch, but _wow_. He was fucking smitten.)

Dandelion continued to sway his hips and swivel about the stage, running his hands up and down his frame in a tantalizing fashion. Revealing more skin, revealing more of his perfect body, giving more and more and more. 

(Inversely, the more he gave, the more Geralt found himself filling with need. He felt needles of desire prickling at the surface of his skin, waves of want washing along the shore of his mind. And, amidst it all, his mind and eyes zeroed in on Dandelion as he danced. Nothing and no one else. It was freeing and suffocating all at once.)

In the last minute of the song, Dandelion suggestively removed the top part of his two-piece, wiggling it in front of the audience before dropping it. He ran a gentle finger up the length of his freshly exposed torso, letting his lips part to mimic some sort of pleasure at the sensation. Then he turned around, facing his back to the crowd, and intentionally exhibiting his gorgeous posterior for everyone to see. Which did not go unnoticed.

Dandelion swiveled his head back over his shoulder to flash a flirty wink-and-smile as the last note sounded.

Then the lights on the stage went black, and the curtains closed.

Geralt felt himself ease back into his chair, drawing a deep breath as the people around him erupted with cheers and whoops and whistles. 

As the cheers for Dandelion died down and the announcer prepared to introduce the next act, Geralt got up to use the restroom-- to cope with the _physical_ symptom of Dandelion’s wonderful performance skills.

➸➸➸

When Geralt got home that night and went to bed, he found himself staring up at his ceiling fan for a while, thinking about what he’d done. Thinking about what he wanted to _keep_ doing.

And as of that night, the Friday night that he’d gone _back_ for Dandelion, Geralt knew that he was royally fucked.

(Which was truer than he could’ve imagined then.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! A bit more will happen next chapter though, so keep an eye out for it ;)
> 
> In the next chapter, Geralt discovers that he’s horrible at keeping secrets. Or maybe Yen is just really good at prying. 
> 
> He makes some more questionable decisions, which wind up bringing him face to face with Dandelion himself.


	3. i met you in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yen’s starting to be suspicious. Geralt finds himself in a predicament.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s slightly longer than I anticipated, but oh well. A great deal of chaos will soon follow lol.
> 
> (Warnings: More masturbation, sexual innuendos.)
> 
> Songs in this chapter:  
> -“Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra  
> -“The Way You Look Tonight” by Tony Bennett

The burlesque shows at Madame Madeline’s happened every Thursday through Sunday night from ten to midnight.

This meant that four nights each week, Geralt sat amongst the audience in anticipation of his favorite performer. After the first two weeks of consecutive visits, some of the welcoming staff began to recognize him and say hello. Which was slightly unsettling, but not particularly alarming.

As Geralt previously noticed, the performers frequently changed and rearranged their acts. Geralt didn’t mind it, since he was really only there for one reason.

And Dandelion’s performances were never disappointing. 

(Geralt did have some favorites though. Like the one where Dandelion strutted around in a candy-themed corset suggestively dancing to the song “Lollipop”. Or the night he came out in a lacy red bodysuit with a red boa draped over his shoulder, singing a jazzy and melodramatic version of “Lady in Red”.)

Seeing Dandelion on the stage brought a rush of euphoria up Geralt’s spine every time, without fail. But, as goes the downfall of most people, Geralt started to want  _ more _ . So naturally, Geralt tried to get “more” in any way that he could.

The seats in the venue that Geralt sat in during the beginning of the whole debacle had a decent view of the stage, but at a distance that allowed him to maintain some secrecy and subtly amidst the crowd. Because part of his objective  _ had  _ been to remain discreet.

That objective flew out of the window, though, when Geralt felt particularly drawn to Dandelion one night. And the distance between him and the stage felt too damn far. 

So he moved up one table, to get a better view of the man.

And then the next night, he moved up another table. 

Then a couple more tables the next night.

Until Geralt had convinced himself to buy a pricier front seat ticket, as close to the stage as he could possibly get.

This brought Geralt so wonderfully close to the dancer that sometimes it looked like Dandelion was looking right back at him. 

(A trick of the light, he figured.)

➸➸➸

A month before Yen’s wedding, she invited Geralt out to dinner “just because”. Which really meant that she needed to vent, and wanted an excuse to do it in person. 

Having been friends with Yen for so long, Geralt recognized those small behaviors of hers. And normally, he was happy to help her in any way he could— especially when she was going through her infamous high-stress periods.

Except that Yennefer invited him out for dinner on a  _ Sunday _ night. And the restaurant she picked was a forty-minute drive from Madame Madeline’s. And Geralt didn’t know what to do.

He knew he couldn’t just pull an excuse out of his ass. To Yen’s knowledge, it’s not like he had anywhere else to be or anyone else to attend to. 

And Yen would be pissed if she’d found out that Geralt had been intentionally hiding his newest pastime from her.

Yen would be even  _ more _ pissed if she knew Geralt was considering attending to the aforementioned pastime instead of helping a friend in dire need.

So he knew he had to go. But he also knew that he needed to see Dandelion. Or at least he really  _ wanted  _ to. 

He tried not to fixate on these conflicting motifs, and figured it would all pan out when the time arrived.

Hopefully.

➸➸➸

It was half past eight-pm on Sunday night when Geralt had his first crisis.

Yen was twenty minutes from the restaurant, and he hadn’t even left his apartment yet.

Were he in a distinctly spiteful mood, he would’ve blamed this on her. Since it was the lingering memory of her nagging that caused him to spend so long looking for a god-damned  _ shirt _ .

Geralt frantically, yet algorithmically, sifted through his drawers and laundry baskets for the burgundy long-sleeved dress shirt Yen made him buy from Men’s Wearhouse last year.

(“I’m serious, Geralt. It’s disheartening that I’ve let this travesty go on for so long. You’re a grown man. You can’t just wear black t-shirts and black jeans for the rest of your life,” Geralt recalled her saying.) 

Finally noticing the distinct hue of fabric from the corner of his eye, he pulled on the shirt, aggressively fiddled with its many buttons, grabbed his phone and keys and wallet, and rushed out the door.

➸➸➸

Thirty minutes later, Geralt found his seat across from Yen in a mahogany restaurant booth. 

“It’s not like you to be late, Geralt. I was afraid something terrible happened,” Yen spoke without looking up from her menu.

He only took a brief moment to gaze up at the high ceilings, unnecessarily decorated with grand chandeliers.

“Got distracted,” he muttered, briefly re-registering the fact that he wasn’t overly enthused about being there in the first place.

Yennefer momentarily took her eyes off of the menu to examine Geralt. “You look rather nice. Is that a new shirt?”

Geralt glared at her morosely and picked up his menu.

➸➸➸

By nine-thirty, Geralt had long finished his steak, but Yen was only halfway into her meal and still prattling on about the incompetence of catering companies that refuse to accommodate vegan options. Geralt’s fingers were anxiously tapping on the side of his thigh, and he was acutely aware of every passing second. In a beautifully chaotic symphony, he noticed Yen's rant was almost perfectly in rhythm with the jazzy piano music playing in the restaurant.

( _ Jazzy  _ piano music.)

“...And I was trying to  _ carefully  _ explain to him that there was no good reason for us to pay extra because of  _ his  _ limited nutritious range, but he didn’t take that too well, which is hardly my problem. Triss insisted that I was being too hard on him, but―” She paused, watching Geralt take another glance at his watch. “...Do I  _ bore  _ you, Geralt?”

Snapping out of his thoughts at the mention of his name, he cleared his throat and looked at her apologetically. “Not at all.”

Violet eyes lidded by hues of lavender eyed him suspiciously.

“Is there somewhere you need to be soon?” she inquired, indifferently taking a sip of merlot.

(No, just somewhere he desperately  _ wanted  _ to be.)

“No,” he said, “Wanted to get home early. To finish up a report for work.”

His throat suddenly felt heavy and thick, a symptom of lying to someone he trusted so dearly. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

She pursed her lips in consideration and eyed him for a few more moments before taking her phone out of her clutch. 

“Very well,” she breathed, casually swiping into an app, “Venmo me and go. I’ll get the check.”

Geralt furrowed his brows, trying not to appear too grateful for this opportunity to escape. The alarm going off in response to her unwarranted kindness was conveniently clouded by his dire need to get to Madeline’s as soon as he could.

“Yen, it’s―”

“ _ Before _ I change my mind, Geralt,” she insisted, gesturing exasperatedly.

So he took out his phone, sent her sixty dollars, and was just as quickly out of the door.

➸➸➸

Despite the shortcuts he took through traffic, Geralt got to the parking lot of Madame Madeline’s at ten-seventeen. Which meant he was already late for the show.

The parking lot, as usual, was full. But if Geralt parked across the street and hurried back, it would take too long and he might miss the start of Dandelion’s performance. So he kept driving through the lot, making frantic loops through the sea of cars, until he found himself driving around the building.

And, with an unforeseen cluster of luck, he found a parking lot in the back.

(In the haze of relief that he’d found a parking spot within close proximity of the club, he managed not to see the “EMPLOYEES ONLY” sign plastered in the front of the lot.)

➸➸➸ 

Geralt paid his fee as he entered the venue, seeing Razzle and Dazzle finish up their duo number as he made his way to his thankfully empty seat. Then he waited.

And lo and behold: “ _ Now, please welcome to the stage… the delicious, delectable, dreamy... Dandelion _ !” 

The curtains opened and Dandelion was already on the stage, royal blue lights surrounding him and his silhouette. He wasn’t wearing a mic, but he did have two matching blue feather-fans in his grip. And he  _ was  _ wearing blue high heels and a matching blue corset.

(God, Geralt never gets tired of seeing him.)

Dandelion paraded about the stage, covering and revealing himself consistently during the entirety of one entire Sinatra song. But something about Dandelion’s body language changed when he took a sweeping look at the patrons in the front row. Specifically— Geralt tried not to notice— when he met the eyes of the silver-haired man staring up at him.

Throughout the following song, a somber but romantic tune, Dandelion sought Geralt’s eyes more frequently. Going against every electrified fiber in his body, Geralt made some vastly significant efforts not to perk up when their eyes met. Again. And again. And twice more.

With an unmistakable quantity of charm, Dandelion met Geralt’s gaze as his hand glided down his nearly-bare body, as the music sang, “ _ Just the way you look tonight _ .” And then he fucking  _ winked _ .

Geralt’s cock twitched in his pants and his lips hung open. For a few seconds longer, their eyes stayed on each other, making all of the cheers in the room fade out, making them feel like the only two people in the venue.

But then the curtains closed, and Dandelion sent Geralt a parting smile, full of warmth and elation. And, with that, Geralt was forcefully sent back into reality— suddenly feeling the discomfort of his erection straining against the fabric of his pants.

He sighed heavily and got up from his seat, taking his routine walk-of-shame to the bathroom.

➸➸➸

Geralt spent longer than usual in the restroom. 

New and old visions of his muse blended and fused into an endless cavalcade of heart-wrenching, tantalizing beauty that spread warmth all across his body. It wove endless waves of throbbing desire up and down his skin, making his body grow thicker with want with every passing second. 

(Dandelion’s smiles and flirtatious expressions and swinging hips and glistening thighs and explorative hands. It was all so much—  _ too  _ much, but not enough.)

Geralt shut his eyes, arm pressed into the cold porcelain tiles of the wall, having to bite on his fist to keep himself from moaning too loudly. 

He retraced back to memories of Dandelion in various positions on stage, trying to formulate a clear picture of how he would look wearing nothing. For Geralt. 

He was already halfway there when he remembered the way Dandelion had been looking at him that night. Vividly blue eyes staring straight down at him, full of life— seeping with an expression of lust. And for a few seconds longer than usual, those eyes were devouring  _ Geralt _ .

Simultaneously trying to scold himself for being so responsive to a simple look, and also being enticed by Dandelion’s attention, Geralt whined into his hand and thrusted more vigorously into his balled fist.

Drawing out the high for as long as he could, he replayed Dandelion over and over in his mind, until he was the only thing filling his mind, filling his senses. His breaths grew shallow, and he felt the heat inside him fizzle onto the surface, tingling sensations burning at his loins.

And with another recollection of beautiful blue eyes, Geralt grunted helplessly and released onto the wall. 

He took a few moments to reassemble himself, before pulling on his pants and cleaning up the indecent mess he’d made.

With Dandelion still etched into his skin, as well as his mind, Geralt took a deep breath and went back into the venue.

➸➸➸

When the show was over, Geralt strutted to the parking lot with heavy feet. He took a few moments to look at the swarm of people, coupled in unique and distinct groups. Some people were noticeably inebriated, while others seemed to be having normal conversations. Some people were getting very touchy with their company, and some people were persistently silent as they disappeared into their vehicles.

And Geralt was alone. 

(Which he didn’t usually mind, nor care about. But somewhere along the line, somewhere along the path crazed fascination, Geralt chased the idea of warmth as he chased Dandelion. He chased the pleasure, and something deeper than it. Something he couldn’t reach. Something he couldn’t have.)

Geralt shook his head and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He grabbed his phone from his pocket, turning the corner of the building to get to the lot where his car was.

The guilt of walking out on dinner with Yen early started to creep up on him, ultimately causing him to fiddle with his phone until he was dialing her number and calling her. 

It rang once, then twice, then—

“Lords, Ger, it’s a bit late for you to be calling. Have you died?”

He suppressed a smile and rolled his eyes at her ridiculousness, fetching his keys from his pocket. “Yes, Yen. I died.”

“And how’s the afterlife?”

“Crowded. And cold.”

Yen drew out a single laugh in response. “Your humor’s evolving, and I will graciously take full credit for it. Makes you more fun at parties.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and casually rested himself against the hood of his car. “Sure.”

“We’re back to one word-responses, now? You make my job impossibly difficult,” Yen spoke, “Anyway, what’s going on?”

Geralt sighed and looked at his surroundings, hoping he’d miraculously find the answer to her question in one of the flickering lights that hung above his head.

Instead, he settled on muttering, “Wanted to say thanks.”

It was silent for a moment before she said, “For…?”

Geralt pondered. “Um. Dinner, I guess.”

“You guess,” she echoed with amusement. “How’s work coming along?”

His throat tightened and his jaw clenched.

“Fine,” he lied, “Night, Yen.”

“Goodnight, Geralt.” He heard a muffled voice speak from the other side of the phone, then Yen sighed and spoke back into the phone, “Triss says goodnight as well.”

He snickered and replied, “Night, Triss” before hanging up the phone.

Geralt exhaled, pocketing his phone and shutting his eyes. He let his nose take in the scent of recently befallen rain and the vague remnants of cigarettes. The air was slightly damp against his skin. All he wanted to do was get home to take off the stupid fucking shirt―

His thought process was interrupted by the sound of a nearby door opening, immediately followed by a variety of enthused voices.

Geralt’s eyes snapped open and he turned his head to face the source of the sound, viewing a group of radiant people all energetically conversing with one another. A tad confused, Geralt furrowed his brows, wondering where in the building these people were coming from. 

Then, he spotted the “EMPLOYEES ONLY” sign.

And he looked again at the jovial faces of the individuals. Faces that were suddenly familiar.

And it clicked.

In a slight panic, Geralt walked away from his spot on the hood of his car to the driver’s seat door. Trying not to bring too much attention to himself, he stood still, cautiously waiting for the people to leave before taking his exit. 

The woman he’d recognized as Rosie Posie was now wearing a t-shirt and leggings with her hair tied up in a loose bun, passionately debating with Razzle about the correct way to pronounce “caramel”. Miss Peri Winkle was trying to organize the rest of the off-duty performers in a chorus to sing Let it Go. And one last person left the door with a duffel bag in his hand, fixing the buttons on his loose red blouse, brown hair flopping freely as he enthusiastically joined in for the chorus of the Frozen song.

He was Dandelion _. _

Geralt froze. 

Seeing that man,  _ the  _ man, out of the illusion was… a lot for him. Dandelion seemed less performative, more genuine, but still with the same shroud of mirth he wore while on stage. He moved with a lighter air, he sang with less calculation. 

And Geralt adored it.

The man spun around Rosie, before kissing her hand as she disappeared into her SUV. He turned around to Peri Winkle handing her his duffel bag to put in the back of her car, briefly interrupting his singing to thank her: “You’re a blessing, darling, thank you—  _ can’t hold it back any moooor _ e!” 

At some point, Peri and Dandelion gave up on the song in favor of asking their companions what they’d like to eat:

“I’m thinking sushi...? How do we feel about sushi?” Perri inquired, twirling her car keys in her fingers.

The majority of them mumbled their agreement, but one of them impatiently demanded their undivided attention to very seriously say, “Ask not what your sushi can do for you, but what you can do for your sushi.” Which rightfully earned exasperated groans and non-committal giggles.

Dandelion put his hand on the shoulder of the perpetrator and groaned, “Honestly, Rachel, I don’t know why we haven’t revoked your one-liner card yet.  _ Genuinely _ . You prove yourself unworthy of it with every passing da—”

Dandelion's sentence was interrupted when his eyes stopped on Geralt.

Geralt swore under his breath and tore his eyes away, suddenly needing to look like he was doing something.  _ Anything _ . As a temporary solution, he pretended to fumble with his keys and fix his watch. He kept doing those two things in intervals until the opening and closing of car doors left nothing but muffled conversations in the air.

Geralt took a breath, relieved that he managed to avoid a catastrophe, and went to  _ actually _ unlock his car door when—

“You know, I was always told it’s impolite to stare at strangers,” a familiar voice said.

Geralt’s hand froze on the handle of his car door and his eyes widened. 

Dandelion must’ve noticed this because he apologetically continued, “Sorry! Gods, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, I just...”

Dandelion’s voice trailed off as Geralt was still trying to process this turn of events. Namely the fact that fucking  _ Dandelion  _ was standing mere feet away him. 

The man’s sweet voice added, “Just wondering if you’ve started working here recently... since this is the employees’ lot and all.” 

Geralt took a millisecond to compose himself and reel all of his astonishment deep inside of him. Still not meeting Dandelion’s eyes, he cleared his throat and replied,

“The regular parking was full.”

A trivial chuckle left the other man's mouth. “Well,  _ I  _ won’t give you any trouble for it, ‘cause honestly I'd probably do the same thing had I not worked here. Our shows are the  _ créme-de-la-créme _ , but probably not worth parking two blocks away for, hm?”

Geralt winced at the last comment, realizing Dandelion thought that Geralt was being some variant of ungrateful or impatient. 

“I was running late,” he excused.

Dandelion took a few curious steps closer, now near the side mirror of Geralt's car. Now significantly closer to Geralt.

“I suppose that makes sense,” Dandelion cooed, “Wouldn’t want to miss a moment of the action. We all work  _ very  _ hard on the show, after all.”

Geralt, having adequately centered his focus and regulated his breathing, turned his head to look at Dandelion in that moment.

The light in the parking lot wasn’t too bright, but Geralt could see Dandelion’s smoothly side-swept brunette hair gently framing the top of his head. The man wasn’t wearing nearly as much make-up as he was earlier, but he still had on a quaint layer of color on his lips and a sliver of eyeliner under his eyes. His expression was full of intrigue and his head was lazily leaning on the side of Geralt’s car. Instead of the revealing garments he had on earlier, he wore a partially unbuttoned red blouse and leathery black skinny-jeans. 

(And he looked  _ angelic _ .)

Upon seeing Geralt’s face, Dandelion’s expression shifted from one of mirth to one of wonderment and his lips parted to speak again.

“I  _ knew  _ it was you,” he chirped victoriously, eyes scanning the rest of Geralt’s frame.

Geralt’s eyes widened and he panicked internally. He started verbally backpedaling. Unfortunately, a measly “I don’t…” was all he could manage before Dandelion continued,

“You’re the handsome gentleman from the first row… I must say, you’re  _ so  _ much more magnificent up close. I didn’t even think that was physically  _ possible _ .”

(Geralt ignored the way his own cheeks flushed at the compliment, in favor of being shocked that Dandelion recognized him.)

At Geralt’s silence, Dandelion spoke, “Gods, sorry, where are my manners,” he stretched out his hand, “I’m Jaskier… But, of course, most people here know me as Dandelion.”

(Geralt mentally repressed the number of times that he had thought of  _ Jaskier  _ as “Dandelion” even when he  _ wasn’t  _ there.)

He hesitantly extended his hand to meet Jaskier’s— overwhelmingly soft and tepid to the touch— for a brief handshake. It took everything in him not to revel in the touch, quickly pulling his hand away in favor of his sanity.

“Geralt,” he introduced himself plainly.

“ _ Geralt _ ,” Jaskier repeated fondly. “My apologies for sprouting up on you so quickly. I  _ do  _ hope that I haven’t made you uncomfortable in any way…”

Geralt’s brows flinched with worry and he shook his head. 

“Good,” Jaskier mused, a small smile tugging at his lips, “You know, you’ve initiated quite a stir among us.”

Geralt blinked inquisitively and curiously echoed, “Us?”

Jaskier grinned and stepped closer.

“Me and the other dancers… I mean, the majority of us have happened to see you during our performances. They always say that you look distant or uninterested during theirs, but… I can’t say I get the same treatment,” he remarked, his voice becoming noticeably sultry at the end of his statement.

( _ Shit _ .)

“It’s become a bit of an ongoing query among us. They see you looking like you'd rather be _anywhere_ else, and they wonder why in god’s name you keep coming back to see the shows. But they don’t know what for— or rather, _who_ for.” 

Jaskier’s face was tainted with a gentle smugness, mixed with something else Geralt couldn’t quite place. And Geralt became aware that the man was dangerously close, smelling richly of lavender.

Jaskier stole a sweeping glance at Geralt’s structured face, lingering helplessly at his unmoving lips.

Geralt gulped.

Jaskier’s bright, half-lidded eyes met Geralt’s as he amorously whispered, “Tell me, Geralt... Who do you come for?” 

Geralt clenched his jaw tight, pupils dilating as he took in the sight and the  _ sound  _ of Jaskier like this. Brief images of all of his nights full of restless wanting, combined with the disbelief that this interaction was happening in the first place, started making his mind spin feverishly. 

But amidst it all, he felt spellbound by the man, body and mind being pulled closer to him, hanging helplessly on every word Jaskier spoke.

Still figuratively inebriated, Geralt decided to take the plunge, ready to tell and give Jaskier anything he wanted. 

He licked his lips, taking calculated glances at the ravenous way Jaskier was observing him, and started to speak,

“I—”

An obnoxiously loud car horn sounded, pulling them out of their trance. Both men turned their heads toward the source.

“ _ Jaskier _ , hurry up! We’re  _ hungry _ !” a high-pitched voice shouted from outside the window of said car.

“Fuck,” Jaskier sighed exasperatedly, apologetically looking back up at Geralt, “I  _ completely  _ forgot I told them I’d buy dinner tonight.”

Geralt chuckled and turned himself back towards his car door.

“Go. Wouldn’t want you to starve,” he joked, his voice still deep with remnants of want.

Jaskier eyed him up and down and suggestively replied, “I’m sure I would’ve found better ways to sate my hunger.”

Geralt’s blood rushed wantonly and he quirked an eyebrow at Jaskier.

The fucking car horn sounded again.

“Gods. So impatient, that one,” Jaskier bellowed, then composed himself to ask Geralt, “Do you have a phone?” 

Geralt nodded, reaching into his pocket and unlocking the device before handing it to Jaskier. The man frantically tapped a few buttons and gave the phone back, looking up at Geralt.

“I saved my number... I  _ really  _ hope you use it, else I’d have made a fool of myself for no good reason.”

Jaskier left Geralt with a flirty grin before walking back to the car where the previous noise had come from. Geralt watched as he disappeared into the car, and he finally unlocked the door to get into his own.

(Geralt never blushed. But if he  _ ever  _ did, it would’ve been then.)

➸➸➸

The following evening when Geralt got home from work, he poured himself some scotch and eased his body on the sofa, revelling in the serene quiet that surrounded him.

In the back of his mind, the unexpected interaction from Sunday night replayed— like it had been doing all day. And he’d been waiting till he got home to rethink the idea of reaching out to Jaskier— because even with the amount of desperation he’d been brewing in his gut, he had enough reservation to hold himself back.

He thought about how his fascination with “Dandelion”, however ridiculous it was, gave him a safe place in his mind. Like an untouchable comfort. And the only person he’d ever hurt with such a thing would be himself, never anyone else. 

But if he reached out to  _ Jaskier _ , if he started… whatever the man gave Geralt his number for, there would be expectations. There would be conflict, or even worse, longing. And it would tear Geralt out of his safe zone of comfort, propelling him into something so much better or so much  _ worse _ .

And it terrified him.

But at the thought of Dandelion or Jaskier— whoever it was at that point— Geralt’s skin simmered, his heart thumped vigorously, and his body burned with want.

Which meant, no matter what Geralt’s mind had to say about it, he had to do something. Quickly.

Geralt took a breath and placed his glass on the coffee table in front of him. He took out his phone and searched for the familiar name in his contacts. Geralt huffed amusedly when he noticed the star next to his name, indicating that Jaskier had added himself to Geralt’s favorites.

He tapped on the contact, started a new message, and wrote:

_ Hi. Is this Jaskier? _

Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he pressed send.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. take this heart i offer you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a brief little update, but I wanted to get back into this fic. Baby steps, guys! 
> 
> Geralt has some feelings in the beginning here, who knew!
> 
> (Warnings: More innuendos.)

It’s almost humiliating how giddy Geralt felt after sending Jaskier the text. Almost.

In the same breath, though, he felt an immense sense of harrowing regret, like he’d just taken one step too far off the edge of a cliff. A pit in his stomach grew like he was accelerating downwards. 

He pressed the button on the side of his phone to lock it before reluctantly setting it back on the coffee table. He took another swig of scotch, let his back rest against the back of the sofa cushions, and shut his eyes.

(The feeling of possibly being wanted was so unusual to Geralt, tracing unfamiliar patterns of discomfort in his nerves. He was so used to wanting, whether it be too much— as it was with many of his friendships and hobbies— or too little— as it was with his past relationships. 

Though it was significantly less comforting, he’d learned ages ago that he preferred keeping his own company; he preferred the pressure of not being the subject of someone’s wanting. Because that would mean existing outside of himself, and therefore being expected to do things or to be someone to someone else. And, as he’d learned from prior experience, things like those could turn sour quickly.)

He was taken out of his thoughts by the sound of his phone vibrating against the table.

Geralt took a breath to steady the soft simmering that began in his gut, and then went to check his phone:

**Jaskier** : _ That depends, who’s asking ;)  _

Geralt huffed a chuckle, and bit his bottom lip in consideration of a possible response. But almost immediately, his phone vibrated twice more.

**Jaskier:** _But yes it’s me *kissy-face emoji*_

**Jaskier:** _Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with on this fine evening?_

(For a second, Geralt fought a smirk at the man’s use of a flirtatious symbol. But ultimately, Geralt found himself being more shocked at how fucking fast Jaskier typed and sent text messages.)

Geralt pursed his lips and typed a response.

**Geralt** **_:_ ** _ It’s Geralt, from yesterday. _

And four seconds later:

**Jaskier:** _ Ah yes, the notoriously sexy stranger _

**Jaskier:** _I was beginning to worry that you’d lost my number_

Geralt felt a slight twinge of guilt in his chest.

**Geralt** _ : Sorry. _

**Jaskier** : _ Don’t be! Patience is a virtue _

**Jaskier:** _What are you up to? xx_

Geralt looked around at his uneventful surroundings, fixing his eyes on the dark hue of gold that filled his glass on the table. He ran his free hand through his hair and returned his focus back to the conversation. 

**Geralt** _ : Nothing. _

Geralt transiently thought about Yen’s hatred of his poor conversational skills, a claim she based on the sole fact that most of his responses happened to be one-worded. And if you asked Geralt, that spoke more of  _ her  _ loquaciousness rather than his brevity. Regardless, in an effort to debunk her claims, he went to send another message:

**Geralt** :  _ You? _

**Jaskier:** _Sipping cheap wine on my bed, mindlessly watching an old episode of The Voice_

****

Geralt took a moment to visualize the description but before he could get a clear picture, his phone buzzed in his hand again.

**Jaskier:** _Can I call?_

Geralt stilled and a wave of anxiousness slowly began to creep over him. Despite that, the small portion of his mind that had control of his decision making answered for him before he could stop it:

**Geralt** :  _ Sure. _

His heart pounded inconsolably fast within his chest, and he silently cursed himself for being so worked up over a fucking phone call. A phone call with the last person on Earth he should be talking to, sure. But still, just a phone call.

(It wasn’t like he was even sure what was supposed to happen in the conversation, or what they were supposed to discuss. Come to think of it, he hadn’t fully processed the absurdity of the whole situation before that very moment. The whole thing was unbelievably foreign. Geralt didn’t  _ do _ foreign things. It was the most insane thing, really, that the one time Geralt decided to step out of his usual comfortable routine, it had to be in the most absurd and unorthodox way possible—)

Geralt’s phone started to ring.

(Fuck.)

Taking a second to compose himself - a process he’d become rather familiar with recently - Geralt cleared his throat and tapped the green button.

He put the phone to his ear and listened, vaguely catching the sound of distant singing in the background— which would make sense, considering Jaskier’s prior explanation of his situation.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice asked, effectively breaking Geralt’s nosy silence.

“Um. Yeah,” he answered. 

“Hi,” Jaskier chirped happily, “I  _ much _ prefer hearing your husky voice when I’m trying to seduce you.”

“...Thanks.”

“Mhm… Still doing nothing?”

Geralt eyed the scotch on the table again, then reached over to pick up. “Having some scotch.”

“ _ Scotch _ ,” Jaskier echoed for emphasis. “Finally, some  _ details _ from you. A man of class. You must have all your… ducks in a row then.” 

The amount of comprehension Geralt had of whatever the hell Jaskier was implying was little-to-none. And it suddenly dawned on him that he wasn’t interested in having a conversation centered around himself.

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed noncommittally. “How’s The Voice?” 

Jaskier offered an exasperated sigh before passionately continuing, “Gods, don’t get me  _ started _ , Geralt. I mean the contestants are talented and lovely, sure, but it’s the same thing every single season. Someone belts really  _ really _ well, and the judges pretend like they’ve never heard someone with a strong, controlled voice before…”

(Jaskier was a lot more talkative than Geralt imagined. It wasn’t unpleasant, though. Just new.)

“...But occasionally I’ll discover a good song I haven’t heard. So I suppose it’s the price I pay for my musical endeavors.”

Geralt only vaguely registered the basis of Jaskier’s sporadic train of thought. And having considered it all, he thoughtfully responded,

“Hmm.”

Jaskier chuckled half-heartedly in response and then Geralt heard some shuffling. The sound of singing in the background decreased suddenly, indicating that Jaskier had turned down the volume of his show. There was a brief silence that made both men uncomfortably fidget and fumble with themselves. 

(A common goal hung over their heads, but neither of them wanted to reach for it alone.)

Jaskier broke the silence when he asked, “Can I ask you something?”

The wave washed over Geralt again as he reluctantly answered, “Okay.”

“How is it that you manage to be just as charmingly inarticulate through text as you are in person?”

(Cheeky, Geralt thought, too can play at that game.)

“Not always brief in person,” he retorted casually.

“Is that so?” Jaskier questioned, his voice now thick with intrigue. “Well, as much as I’d _love_ to take your word for it, I’m afraid I don’t know you well enough to trust your moral integrity…unless you’d like to change that?” 

Geralt’s tongue suddenly felt heavy in his mouth and he nervously ran his hands up and down the length of his clothed thigh. 

Jaskier waited all of three seconds before he decided to take Geralt’s reluctance as an invitation to freak himself out: 

“Unless I’m overstepping… am I overstepping? Have I been reading this wrong? Oh Gods… are you  _ married _ ? Or, er, in a… prior engagement? Because, if so, I- I sincerely apologize for getting the wrong idea and I—”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, cutting through the man’s verbal spiraling. 

“...Yes?” he answered hesitantly. 

“I’m not married. Or in a ‘prior engagement’,” he explained cautiously.

Jaskier was silent, waiting for him to continue, but Geralt thought his answer was sufficient.

“So… you’d be interested in letting me get to know you better? Only in the ways you’re comfortable with, of course,” Jaskier inquired with a hopeful quip.

Geralt reached for his glass as he answered, “Yes.”

➸➸➸

Because Geralt still refused to involve Yennefer in this new part of his life, he had to be distressed about his plans with Jaskier on Friday alone.

Geralt wasn’t exactly sure that his outing with the man was considered a “date” anyway. They were just getting to know each other, while eating dinner at one of Jaskier’s favorite restaurants. Geralt and Yen did those kinds of things all the time— except Geralt hadn’t fantasized about Yen while she seductively danced half-nakedly across a stage...

(In other words, it was  _ definitely  _ a date.) 

All the while, Geralt knew that he’d have to shove his heart and mind deep within their respective confines to keep them from leaping outwards at the sight and thought of Jaskier. But he could manage that. He’d have to.

➸➸➸

The rest of his work week was dreadfully slow. 

On Wednesday morning, Geralt brewed himself a cup of coffee and felt himself wear his skin uncomfortably. While trying to adjust himself, Geralt looked out of his kitchen window and thought.

Geralt and Jaskier hadn’t spoken since that Monday night, which made  _ sense  _ since they technically had no need to, but it made some small part of him uneasy.

With most interactions, Geralt truly felt like there was little need for constant communication, everything was an exchange. But something about Jaskier— besides the overwhelming sex appeal— felt different, since he saw him on stage, and since he stopped him in the parking lot. It felt warm, exciting, and vibrated cooly throughout his chest and lungs and spread out into his palms whenever he entertained the thought.

(But maybe he was just looking too hard into it, trying to find meaning in the first thing that’s been able to make him feel like this. Maybe it would be a fleeting thing, like everything else in his life had been.)

Geralt chugged the rest of his coffee, left the mug in his sink for later, and left his apartment.

➸➸➸

When Geralt went to Madeline’s on Thursday night, he parked in the regular parking lot. But he almost didn’t.

Jaskier danced to a song with a tune that Geralt was sure he’d heard before. It made him warm in a way that wasn’t sensual. 

(It wasn’t till later that he realized it was the song Jaskier was listening to during their call on Monday night… Huh.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooo, does this mean these boys will go on their little datey-date next chapter? Yes, yes it does!


End file.
